


When life gives you lemons

by Veni_Vidi_Vici_Because_I_Can



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alright I'm Done Now, Dramatics, Gen, Happy Ending, I Tried, I'm Sorry, Loads of it, Lots of it, M/M, Not a very good one though, Oh, Sane people are a little scarce in this one, Tags are the worst, Tea, Yet another attempt at writing, and fluff, and puns, and sarcasm is used like a language, because we all know how much of a drama queen Sherlock is, because we really don't need any more sadness right now, because why not really, but hey they're cute, god they really can be oblivious, help me, if you look for it, lots of puns, oh i give up, there's angst, there's johnlock fluff, these tags are a fucking disaster, this also applies to the author, ugh how the fuck do you tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veni_Vidi_Vici_Because_I_Can/pseuds/Veni_Vidi_Vici_Because_I_Can
Summary: When life gives you lemons, do something unexpected and make orange juice. Now you’ve done something unique, and also have a commercially popular drink in your hands, while simultaneously giving life and everyone around you a heart attack, because “What kind of sorcerer makes orange juice out of lemons?”An absolute win-win situation, as I like to call it.Of course things admittedly get a little more complicated when instead of offering you the usual citrus fruit, life decides to test your patience by sending a certain raven-haired detective and his military doctor your way.Featuring our favourite a high functioning sociopath, a kinda crazy narrator, a little bit of crime here and there, and predictably, Dr. Watson as the last one sane.I apologise in advance for all the stupid jokes, terrible puns, and all that British craziness.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 1





	1. I don't know what to name this

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I'm so glad you decided to read this. So yeah, this is kinda a first person POV story, but I promise it ain't that cringy fic we all collectively hate. Promise. (Trust me, I've had enough of those for a lifetime) I just chose to write in first person because the original books were in first person. Okay, I'll stop now.  
> Happy reading!

Chapter 1: 

When life gives you lemons, do something unexpected and make orange juice. Now you’ve done something unique, and also have a commercially popular drink in your hands, while simultaneously giving life and everyone around you a heart attack, because “What kind of sorcerer makes orange juice out of lemons?” 

An absolute win-win situation, as I like to call it. 

Of course things admittedly get a little more complicated when instead of offering you the usual citrus fruit, life decides to test your patience by sending a certain raven-haired detective and his military doctor your way.

Alright, so maybe that wasn’t the best introduction, but cut me some slack, I am, after all, on the run after murdering a man in cold blood, not to mention having to deal with having a high functioning sociopath and a very exasperated former military doctor as my partners in crime. (Get it? Partners in crime? Because this whole thing is about crimes? Oh, never mind) 

Perhaps a little self introduction would help at this point. 

My name is Dorothy Clark, I’m fourteen years old, I live in London and I’m very, very British. I live with a rather… eccentric uncle who tries to invent mechanisms that would supposedly “Change the goddamn world,” and spectacularly fails in the process. I prefer trousers to a skirt, enjoy riling rude people up, grew up with a half-crazy caretaker, and live in a madhouse where berserk machines could end your life. But I fit right in, because just like all the things in my life, I too am a little bit mad. 

You know, just your average cliché teenage girl, nothing new really.

Oh, and did I mention my love for zebras?

Now, you being, well, you, are probably wondering, “Why isn’t Dr. Watson narrating the case like he always does? And why are you narrating the case instead?”

Fair questions, really. I suppose I could answer them right now, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’ve always been rather fond of dramatics, so it’ll be all the more fun to reveal details at the most appropriate time. But rest assured, I have a rather important part to play. 

After all, this is the story of how I murdered my uncle. 

Maybe I ought to tone down the dramatics a bit. I’m afraid I’m giving you a rather bad opinion of myself, but I’d guess my poor storytelling would eventually give you the same idea, so no matter.

Now, I better get started with the story, or I probably would end up talking about the favourite cheese of rainbow coloured dragons. (Honestly, the number of times that has happened is embarrassing.)

I suppose it all started with the exploding chickens.


	2. A happy little introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't keep you waiting. Read on!

I really should stop with the dramatic sentences, shouldn’t I? Oh well. Who am I to say no to the greatness of dramatics, really?  
Right. Before I go off on yet another tangent (again), let’s start with the story.  
Buckle up, kiddos. It’s crime time.  
**********************************  
My day started as I woke up to the sound of yelling, cursing and shouting. For any normal person, this would be cause of alarm. But me? Oh no. A literal chimpanzee could waltz into my room and start quoting Shakespeare, and I wouldn’t bat an eye. Although I admit, the picture of an ape reciting Romeo and Juliet is pretty entertaining.  
Why? Well, I already told you, I live in a madhouse. And I mean that in the most literal possible sense. All four of us in this house are mad, in one way or another.  
Alarmed yet? You should be. And if you aren’t, well… then maybe you belong in this household with us. Anyway, let’s go back to the story, shall we?  
As I blinked and waited for my eyes to get used to the morning light, I brushed my teeth while simultaneously cursing the sun for rising so early. Alright, so it was a quarter to ten, but whatever.  
Quickly tearing out of my bed, I rushed to the bathroom to shower and throw on a pair of black trousers and a beautiful white blouse. It apparently has its own style of necklines and stitching and all, but I couldn’t identify a fabric or fashion to save my life. (Believe me, I’ve tried.) Combing my hair was somewhat of a struggle, to say the least. Okay, so it was a really, really big struggle, but after ten minutes of physical, mental, and emotional torture, black locks of hair fell neatly(sort of) at my waist. Now, all that was left to do was to go face the world and act like a normal human being. Easy, right?  
I headed down for breakfast, and noticed that I was late. The three other occupants of the house were already at the table, and it seemed that they were at the table for at least ten minutes now, which explained a lot of the cursing and shouting because they really couldn’t stand each other. At all.  
“Sorry, woke up a bit late today,” I muttered as I took my seat next to a wiry woman, about thirty-five years old, with honey-blond hair and dark brown eyes, who is also known as Linda Brown, my caretaker.  
“You always wake up late,” Linda hissed, “And for heaven’s sake, do something about your clothes! You look like a lunatic, wearing a man’s clothes. Honestly, no other household would ever allow this ridiculousness, I tell you. Such unladylike behaviour!” she stabbed her bacon as if it had murdered her entire family.  
Alright, so Linda could be a bit of a prick sometimes, but she honestly was the most caring, motherly person I have ever met. The only problem with her is that she is convinced that a girl my age should wear dresses, sit all dolled up, act pretty and posh, and she definitely wouldn’t complain me being a bit educated in the arts of singing and dancing.  
Now, with my infamous attire, absolute lack of posh manners, two left feet and a rather huge err… dislike for dancing, you can probably tell that Linda and I don’t exactly agree on the same things.  
“Well, at least I’m a nice and interesting lunatic,” I said, giving Linda a smile, because I really wanted to stay alive till lunch. My caretaker rolled her eyes, but I heard a laugh being honked to my left.  
The person who laughed was none other than Jack Thorn, otherwise known as my best friend. (Imagine there being all those amazing surnames to chose from, and you chose Thorn instead. Honestly.)  
Jack was an apprentice of my uncle, and was a wannabe inventor. Sixteen years old, with perfect chocolate curls, dark blue eyes, and with an excellent sense of humour(mostly), Jack had initially approached my uncle for a month long apprentice, but the four of us clicked together so well that he decided to stay, and I got a confidant who happened to share a lot of my traits. But where I preferred to be bold, loud, and essentially dramatic, Jack was quiet, shy, and observing. We had our differences, but we make a good team, Jack and I. (Jack reckons it’s because his common sense balances out my stupidity, but that’s just gibberish coming from a jealous lad.)  
“You really need to stop laughing and giggling like such a girl, Jack. Heaven knows I’ve already got once menace to deal with, I don’t need another,” Linda muttered. She pretended to not like Jack, but everyone in the household, except maybe Jack, knew that she really cared for him and considered him her son. Ah, the drama in this house, I tell you.  
“Alright, if everyone’s done acting like total stereotypical fools,” came a deep voice. It belonged to my uncle, obviously. Harry Watson, the master of the house. Physically, my uncle was an intimidating man. Tall, lean, and with dark brown hair down his shoulders, he looked quite mysterious. Uncle Harry was only twenty three, but you’d never guess that from his constant brooding and an utter lack of passion for the things men his age were usually interested in. But of course, that didn’t stop neighbouring women from visiting nearly every day, hoping to “Get to know such a handsome, mysterious man, Miss Clark!” While it was definitely annoying to have to get the door every time they entered, having uncle Harry reject the shallow, conceited women bluntly kind of made up for it. I might have felt sorry for them, if they weren’t so stuck up and vain.  
"Linda and I are heading out for a bit of business, so Jack and Dorothy, you two will hold up the fort while we’re gone for an hour or two,” Uncle Harry said, finishing breakfast. “Oh, and Dorothy, you can wear those trousers dear. You look just fine.” He reached for the newspaper.  
I grinned. “Thanks, Uncle Harry,” I muttered, shooting a triumphant look at Linda, who ignored me as usual. Rude.  
Just another day in the Clark-Watson-Brown-Thorn Household. (My, that’s quite a mouthful, isn’t it?)  
****************************  
Twenty minutes later, all four of us were stood on the porch, helping Linda and my uncle with their bags.  
A terrifying caretaker, a boy who preferred picking flowers to playing games, a girl who wore trousers, and a mad scientist. We were quite a weird family, but hey, we were a bloody fantastic one if I do say so myself.  
“You two better keep the house in order until we get back,” Linda waved a hand at Jack and me. “And no going into that blasted lab until your uncle comes back, Linda. The last time you went in there alone you bleached Apollo’s fur blue,” she said.  
Apollo was our little puppy, whom Jack saw freezing on the street last winter and insisted that we adopt him because “We, can’t just let that adorable thing freeze in the street, Harry!” Linda was absolutely against it, muttering about how the house didn’t need a puppy along with three stubborn mules, but eventually she had given in.  
“But Linda, we’re working on a new project there! And this time Jack can watch Apollo, tell her Uncle Harry!” I cried, gesturing to my uncle.  
Uncle Harry opened his mouth to say something, but promptly shut it when he saw the glare Linda was sending his way. “You had better stay away from the lab, Dorothy,” he finally muttered, because he was terrified of Linda’s death glare. We all were.  
“Don’t worry Linda, I’ll keep her from burning the house down and dyeing dogs blue,” Jack solemnly promised, which earned him an elbow in the ribs.  
“Well, I have my doubts about that, but stay safe you two. Remember, the food’s in the larder and the washing—” Linda started but Jack waved her off. “We’ve got this Linda, don’t worry,” he said. Linda nodded, and gave us a pat on the back each.  
Ten minutes later, Linda and Uncle Harry’s coach disappeared from view, and Jack and I were alone in the house.  
**********************  
“Well, this should be a pretty smooth and quiet day, especially now that we don’t have school to worry about. Just perfect,” Jack muttered lazily, already curling up on the window seat with a warm blanket, tea, and some cringy romance novel.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jack Thorn. Where’s your sense of adventure?” I paced around the house, looking for my boots. Because the house was finally left to us, and I’ll be damned if I let myself waste this opportunity. Sue me.  
Jack suddenly sat up straight and looked at me warily. He looked halfway between uncomfortable and scared. "You’ve got that “I’m about to do something utterly insane,” look in your eyes. What are you planning?”  
I sighed. Why must cynical human beings always ruin my magnificent plans?  
“Look Jackie, we’ve finally got the house to ourselves. Do you know what that means?” I asked my curly friend.  
“No?” Jack was looking more and more nervous by the minute. It would have been funny if I wasn’t focused on something else.  
I sat down on the window seat and heaved the most dramatic sigh I could manage. “Of course you don’t. Well, my dear Jack, the house doesn’t have Linda. That means the house is out of Linda’s authority. That also means I finally get to work on the brilliant projects that Linda has forbidden. Perfect time to assist me on doing them, isn’t it?” I recited each word slowly, just to make sure Jack was listening.  
Of course, Jack, the ever thoughtful lad that he was, refused my generous proposal.  
“You know how much trouble we’ll get in if we do this—” Jack began, but I cut him off.  
“Pleeeeeeease?” I wasn’t one to beg, but I shall do what I must, for the good of future humankind.  
“Let me go get Apollo first,” Jack sighed in defeat, and I did a little victory dance. My friend just chuckled and whistled for Apollo, mumbling about what a bad idea this was.  
In case you’re wondering what all the fuss was about, this is all about a lab. A mechanical lab, to be exact. My uncle is a mechanical engineer, you see. But he claims that all his office projects are “Too boring to stay alive while doing them,” and so he built his own lab, where he built machines years ahead of his time. They were all ingenious ideas, but none of them were fully functional yet.  
That’s where I came in. Jack and I tried to work out all the problems in the machines, and try to make them actual functional contraptions.  
Working in the lab is tricky, to say the least. But with my rather infamous habit of forgetting and misplacing things, it becomes downright dangerous to work in there. Once, I forgot to close the lab door, and an (almost) automated bug swatter tried to swat us to death.  
So, Linda’s reluctance to leave me to do projects in the lab alone was understandable. But in my defence, that was seven years ago. Everybody deserves a second chance, right?  
So there you go. That’s the story of my excitement. Now, back to Jack and Apollo.  
“Shall we, Dora dearest?” that was Jack, (obviously) with Apollo, also known as the cutest creature on earth, in tow.  
I grinned. Although I pretended to take Jack to the lab only to annoy him, the truth was that I needed him there. You know, moral compass and all that.  
“We shall, Jackie dear.”  
It really would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man another chapter in the same day! I'm on a roll, people!  
> On an even happier note, HAPPY NEW YEAR, FELLOW MEMBERS OF THE HUMAN SPECIES! WE MADE ANOTHER YEAR ALIVE!  
> So yeah, hope you stay happy, alive, and with hope. Also, I wouldn't complain a if a few comments existed on this work.  
> All the love,  
> S.xx


	3. Sappyness, explosions, and chickens

I know, I know, you’re cursing me out for being dramatic again. But hey, what’s life without a little drama, right? Besides, you'll get used it. Eventually.

Now. Back to the story.

Jack and I headed up to the attic of the house, which is where the lab was. Jack seemed to be getting used to the idea of breaking Linda’s rules, which is not much progress considering the fact that I’ve dragged him along with me for the last six years to do some rule breaking. 

You’d think after so many times of breaking rules, he’d be more open and used to it, but no. The lad remains as assiduous as ever. (Pardon the long words. I’m just trying to feel smart here.)

We climbed the cursed attic stairs and finally reached the attic landing, panting. Jack swore that the stairs get longer every time we climbed them, and I couldn’t help but agree. Even Apollo nodded in agreement, and Apollo was puppy who was supposed to be tireless. 

I lifted the heavy key that I had managed to swipe from Linda’s drawer and opened the door. The key turned with a satisfying ‘click’, and we were in.

The attic of the house was something that looked like it belonged in a fairytale. The entire room was painted sparkling white, and there were huge windows on the wall that let the sunshine in. The sunlight reflected around the room, creating beautiful patterns across the sparkly white walls. The sunlight also refracted from the three elaborate glass chandeliers hung on the ceiling, creating rainbow beams here and there. To add to it all, beautiful paintings were hung on either sides of the room, making it look like some kind of royal hallway. (I realize I’m bad with metaphors, but just go with it.)

A smile somehow made its way on to my face as I remembered the first time both Jack and I ever saw this place. 

We were both orphans, you see, albeit in different ways. 

I was eight when I was rescued (I mean, adopted) by Uncle Harry from the state orphanage.  
He took me here, to Caeruleum Mansion, where he and Linda were roommates at first, but eventually they bought the house together and Uncle Harry worked as a mechanical engineer while Linda worked as a school teacher. 

Now that made both Uncle Harry and Linda quite unusual people. A man and a woman never moved in together unless they were married, and they certainly didn’t let the ‘woman of the house’ to go out and earn money when another man of the house was working. Both Linda and Uncle Harry knew of all this, of course, but they, in the simplest way possible, clearly didn’t give a damn.

I quite liked that about them.

It was a windy night when I had first entered the house. I had spent nearly all my life in that orphanage, and then suddenly a mysterious man appeared out of nowhere and tells me that I’m going to live with him now. Needless to say, I was a little confused.

But Uncle Harry and Linda welcomed me with open arms. They didn’t judge the fact that I wore trousers, (believe me, I have had my fair share of judgement there) there wasn’t any judgement on my manners, (which definitely weren’t ladylike) or anything, really. It was quite refreshing.

Uncle Harry said I could call him any way I wanted, but would love it if I called him uncle. Obviously, I said yes. Linda remained Linda, and I enjoyed the next six years of my life under Linda’s traditional strictness, and Uncle Harry’s innovative ideas. Predictably enough, I gravitated towards the latter path. 

I finished all my school courses years ahead of my time. (or at least, that’s what the school teachers told me. But now and then I do get the sneaking suspicion that they said that just to kick my annoying self out of school. Oh well, I’ve never liked school much anyway. Too stifling if you ask me.) And I skipped three years to go straight to the final year of high school, which meant I went to the same school as Jack. (Which he was NOT happy about)

Speak of the devil, Jack had arrived exactly six months after me, when he was ten years old and begged my uncle for a job in his lab. He had run away from home because his parents were… not treating him very well, and so he had needed a way to fend for himself.

Both adults took one look at Jack, and welcomed him right into our little family. Although he said he wouldn’t stay long, Jack found himself saying yes when legal adoption papers were placed before him, and there it was, our perfect little family.

I had asked Uncle Harry why he had chosen to adopt us of all people, and all he he had said was, "Miraculous people deserve miraculous opportunities, Dorothy, and you and Jack, are quite honestly the most miraculous people I have ever met,"

Jack and I had something in common, no doubt. We were both social outcasts. The kids my age wouldn’t play with me because I was too boyish, and wouldn’t play with Jack because he was too girly.

We had both cried when we heard things being said about us. All that trouble of dressing up and learning things to fit in, only to be kicked out, over and over and over again.

It had hurt. Dealing with being different was not exactly a walk in the park. If wasn’t for Uncle Harry and Linda, telling us they would always watch out for us, I doubted our lives wouldn’t have been nearly this happy.

Jack somehow had the worse end of the bargain. Constantly bullied, teased, and alienated, the poor boy was in tears every time I had seen him. I hadn’t spoken to him yet, thinking that that was the last thing I needed, to be rejected by yet another person.

But fate has a way of working things out, and it seemed to particularly work its magic one Sunday afternoon. 

I had just finished lunch, and was sitting on the porch, examining and admiring my new physics book. As I was reading it, I had caught sight of a pair of very curious blue eyes looking at me. It was Jack, the new boy who had moved in. He had seemed rather nervous, and slowly made his way over to me.

I had closed the book, ready to bolt. But something in Jack’s eyes had stopped me. I had recognized myself in that look. Something that told me that this boy was different, and worth another chance of friendship. So I had slowly extended my hand, and it was defenitely woth it when Jack’s entire face had lit up, brighter than the sun. He shook my hand so aggressively that I had thought he was trying to rip my arm off, but it turns out he had just been excited after all. 

We had spent the entire afternoon discussing topics that we wouldn’t be able to with other children our age. How Jack was an expert at making flower crowns, how I loved physics more than fashion, and how no one ever spoke to us. Time sped by like lightning, and we both had somehow found amazing company, for the first time ever.

“We are now friends,” Jack had said confidently that day, and I had nodded along.

And that was it. Since that day, it was me and Jack, against the world. It wasn’t quite what I expected, but hey, it worked. And once I saw the flower crowns he had made to celebrate our friendship the next day, well. I might’ve cried in gratitude, but I shall admit nothing.

I shook my head, trying to shake all those sappy thoughts away. This was ridiculous. What just happened back there? Was I being sappy and recollecting old memories while gazing into space? Oh no. I wasn’t sappy, I was serene and unflappable. Totally.

As I moved to set up the lab, I caught Jack looking at me with knowing eyes, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. I sighed and gestured for him to shut up, and went to start the lab.

A few flipped switches, a few turned levers and a couple of well-framed curses later, Five long tables descended from their camouflaged hiding spots in the ceiling, (did you really think we would paint the room shimmery just for decoration?) and neatly landed in parallel rows. Each table contained wires, dials, papers, ink, machine parts, and all sorts of mechanic junk. 

I let out a sigh as I activated the soundproofing mechanisms (curtsey of Uncle Harry) and locked the windows. As much as I loved working here, sometimes I wished I could do it free and proud, without having to hide my work just because I was a girl. But alas, that simply didn’t seem like it was going to happen anytime soon. But hey, a girl can dream, right?

I set aside the blueprints for my previous project, an automatic tomato squasher. (Don’t ask) 

As I turned around, I found Jack standing behind me, with a grin (that Linda accurately dubbed ‘The million-dollar grin’) etched on to his face. That usually meant he knew exactly what I was thinking. And well, we can’t have that now, can we? 

I straightened up and pointed a pen at him. “If you say anything about my thoughts, I will punch you in the face.”

Jack chuckled, but chose to stay silent. Smart move, really. I usually kept to my word, which most people only learned the hard way. 

We soon got to work on our latest project, which Jack had named ‘Chitchatting chickens’. It is exactly what it sounds like. A couple of robotic chickens that, in theory, were supposed to talk. Because, why not, really? 

The previous version of the chitchatting chickens were a little… unpopular, to say the least. It was probably due to the fact they had run around the house, spouting verses of Shakespeare to anyone who would listen. I shivered. I still had nightmares about those things.

So this time, Jack and I were extra careful in making the chickens. Uncle Harry had nearly died laughing when we had told them we were starting this project. (He was a rather huge fan of Shakespeare, and had enjoyed the whole fiasco. The rest of us? Not so much.) So I intended to prove both Uncle Harry (who still thought that the chickens Shakespearing us to death was hilarious) and Linda wrong by constructing talking chickens. 

There was just a little problem with that plan: the chickens were missing.

“Where they bloody hell are they? They couldn’t have just gotten up and walked off!” snapped Jack after our fifth search of the house for runaway chickens. 

“Well, they did do that last time,” I pointed out helpfully, which did not help Jack’s mood.

“Let’s check the roof,” Jack muttered in resignation, and I groaned. 

“I swear that roof is haunted, Jackie. There are strange noises coming from it all the time, you’ve heard them! Do you really want to deal with ghosts right now?” I muttered, because it’s true. That roof was definitely haunted, because the statues up there definitely didn’t move by themselves. (Yes, we keep statues on our roof. Get used to it.)

But of course, Jack ignored me and went to the roof. And just our luck, it had started to rain. 

Sometimes I really hated British weather. 

And of course, the metal talking chickens were right there, piled up on the roof. Drenched and shivering at this point, I didn’t even want to know how they got there. All I wanted to do was get them and get out of the damn thunderstorm. 

Yes, that’s right. We were on the roof, in a thunderstorm, right next to a huge pile of metal. And yes, we’re stupid. Thanks for asking.

What happened next was something even Apollo probably saw coming a million miles away. 

Lightning hit the robots, and all of them exploded, each painstakingly crafted piece scattering in different directions. All of them were blackened with soot and utterly destroyed. So much for proving Uncle Harry and Linda wrong, I suppose. Suddenly, a rather high pitched voice jolted me out of my thoughts.

“Duck!” yelled Jack, who was now shielding himself from the flying parts.

“They’re chickens, not ducks!” I yelled back, because I was an idiot.

Lucky for my dumb self, I saw the robot hurtling toward me just in time, and quickly darted out of the way. (I also proceeded to slip and fall on my ass, but whatever.)

Five minutes later, Jack and I were stood on the roof, looking at the ruined mess of our project. 

“We are in so much trouble,” Jack whispered. 

Oh how right he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! Oh wow writing a fic is harder than I thought.... I'm sorry for all those cliffhangers, but you know, you gotta do what you gotta do. I'll try to update as much as I can, but let me know what you think in the comments! Any ideas are also welcome, I love sharing things with this fandom. Man I had a whole speech planned and I forgot it all.... Oh well. See ya soon and keep hoping!
> 
> All the love,  
> S.xx

**Author's Note:**

> Woo hoo! Finally got that chapter out! Do let me know what you think in the comments. This is my first fic, so I would really love the advice, criticism, comments, you know, the whole package. This chapter's a bit of a teaser of the real story (as you could probably tell) but hey, I'd love to know what y'all think! Also, love you all, thanks for reading, stay alive, and see ya soon!  
> All the love,  
> S.xx


End file.
